The Definition of Appropriate
by Carrie L
Summary: Workforce AU, changing one small detail by swapping Chakotay for Jaffen, as the original script is rumored to have had it. The last few scenes would be much the same – they didn't lobotomize her, after all – but far more difficult for both of them, which might change the outcome. I'm sure it's been done before, but hey, it's fanfic!


_A little Workforce AU, changing one small detail by making Janeway's partner on the planet Chakotay, as the original script is rumored to have had it. The last few scenes would be much the same – they erased her memories, they didn't lobotomize her – but far more difficult for both of them, which might change the outcome entirely. I'm sure it's been done before, but hey, it's fanfic – we traffic in clichés! _

She knew he was coming before the chime sounded. She had been sitting in the dark waiting for him, preparing the words. After the loose clothes she'd been wearing all these weeks on Quarra, her uniform felt constricting. The collar was too tight on her neck and the smooth metal of the back of her captain's pips disturbed her skin as it never had before. Even the recycled air now had an odor that she'd never noticed before – or had stopped noticing at some point but now perceived again. The light was far dimmer than she normally kept it, to push back against the darkness of space. There had been many dark, intimate places on Quarra, and she found herself longing for the variations of light available in a place with real days and nights. For the first time in years, Voyager didn't feel like home. What felt like home was the small workers' apartment she'd shared with – but she'd promised herself to put those thoughts aside.

Prepared as she thought she was, the chime startled her. Chakotay stepped in from the bright corridor, still in civilian clothes, a bag over his shoulder. He hesitated just over the threshold to look around the darkened interior of her quarters. She had fresh flowers in vases on every flat surface, and personal mementoes scattered around. The space felt alien and empty to her. She was trying to reclaim it and close the door on memories of her life – their life – on Quarra, to strengthen herself to enforce the separation they would have to observe on board Voyager.

"I like what you've done with the place," Chakotay said with the soft smile she had often seen him use to defuse tense situations. It was what had drawn her to him on Quarra, along with, she suspected, some residual memory of their pre-existing bond. She first saw that smile planetside from across the control room when he spotted her hurrying in late on her first day of work. That smile gave her a certainty she could not have explained that in the presence of this man, this stranger, everything would be all right. She needed to know him, she remembered thinking, and soon she did, better than she could remember ever knowing anyone. Whether that was her Quarren memory rearrangement or something more real, she still hadn't worked out.

Janeway held still and straight in her position on the far side of the room, near the viewport. She knew that she must be firm and clarify their parameters before he said anything else. She could not respond to him or engage in idle conversation.

"This will be awkward at first, I realize, returning to our command roles, but as a captain, it wouldn't really be appropriate for me to" – she began, but he knew the end of that sentence.

"Fraternize with a member of your crew," he concluded for her as he stepped forward to drop his bag beside the small glass table in front of her sofa. "Not bad. You managed to use the word 'appropriate' in your very first sentence. The Doctor must have restored your memories fully."

Janeway looked down for a second and clasped her hands before meeting his eyes again. "At least I didn't say 'parameters,'" she countered.

This brought a full smile from Chakotay. He tugged at his earlobe. "My memories are back too, but I still remember everything that happened on Quarra. Do you?"

She moved to her desk chair and began to smooth its gray surface with one hand. "I remember," she said softly. She didn't want to have this conversation, but he deserved something, an acknowledgment of what they'd been to each other, castaways yet again on a planet where they might have lived happily together for the rest of their days if not for the Voyager crew's extraordinary resourcefulness. She could afford to be gracious if he was going to be reasonable.

He was kneeling beside the bag and taking out a few small mechanical items, things she'd worked on in their little home on Quarra, an odd collection that she'd treasured. "I thought you might like these back," he said as he deposited them carefully on the table, "to remind you of our time together." He said it in a light tone, as if they were the interesting relics from yet another trade mission, with no sentimental value. As he spoke, he glanced up at her with a resigned look that said he didn't expect anything. He had come prepared for dismissal, just as she had come prepared to dismiss.

Janeway almost sighed with relief. She curled her fingers around the top of the chair and let down her guard a centimeter too far. "I won't need souvenirs to remember that," she answered.

The look on his face told her that he'd spotted the twinge between her eyebrows. She felt it as it happened, unintentionally, a sign of pain that he was sure to recognize. She had not wanted to show him her pain. It would only make this harder for him, to think that she was hurting too, and he was barred from comforting her. Better that he believe that she had slipped seamlessly back behind the captain's mask, better for both of them if he thought it was easy for her. But he knew her face too well, and she could not school her features well enough to hide from him.

He rose with a face full of compassion. It meant a great deal to him, she could see, to know that this separation caused her pain. After only a second's hesitation, he stepped toward her with his arms held out. She rushed into his arms with an intake of breath that was almost a sob and stared at the ceiling while he held her, trying to blink away the tears as a few escaped toward her ears. They stood still together, each memorizing the smell and feel of this embrace that would have to be enough for long years to come.

"It will be okay, Kathryn," he whispered. "I'll still be here. You're not losing me."

She squeezed his shoulders with her arms, kissed his cheek, and took a big step back and away. She straightened her uniform and wiped tears off her face with a frustrated gesture, angry at her own weakness.

"Computer, time," she called.

"The time is 0754 hours," the electronic voice answered. Almost time for alpha shift.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

Janeway cleared her throat and turned toward the door. She came even with him, facing the other direction, and paused. "It may not have been real, Chakotay, but it felt like home. If they hadn't come after us, we never would have known that we had another life."

He was so close that she could feel his heat radiating toward her, but he did not reach out. She had come to know very well what he would do when she was upset or uncertain down on Quarra, where he was just a man, responding to his instincts, and she was just a woman. He would wrap her in those bear-like arms and soothe her the way he used only his voice and his stories to soothe her aboard Voyager. These would be the hardest things – not only forgetting that touch, but forgetting her own delight in it, her longing for it.

"Do you want to tell the crew anything about what happened?" he asked. "This was an unusual situation for a captain and first officer, to say the least, and they're all aware of it."

She nodded. "You're right. But it's not just us. Many members of the crew are having to untangle relationships or leave behind people who became friends or … loved ones. We should make a general announcement to the effect that anyone who needs counseling should see you or the Doctor, and we will all put the experience behind us and return to duty as best we can."

He put a hand on her shoulder. "What about you, Kathryn? Will you come to me or the Doctor for counseling, or will you just force this from your mind, like everything else you've been through?"

She patted his hand, then stepped out from under the touch. "It would hardly be appropriate for me to come to you, under the circumstances," she said.

"This word, 'appropriate,'" he answered, turning toward her. "I looked it up. It means suitable or proper in the circumstances. I've been wondering who decides what's appropriate in circumstances no Starfleet officer has ever experienced."

She turned to face him, looking puzzled. "Well, I do, of course. I'm the captain. The nature of stellar exploration is uncertainty. We operate within established parameters, and when there's uncertainty, I make the call."

His face twisted with an emotion she couldn't be sure of, and then she saw his anger. "And this is your call? For as long as it takes us to get home, the rest of the crew can marry, have children, whatever they like, but you as the captain have to remain alone?"

"Oh Chakotay," she said in a cajoling tone and put her hand on his forearm. He responded by gripping her by her upper arms and pulling her right up to him.

"Are you sorry they showed up?" he demanded. "Do you really prefer this?"

Janeway glared back. "Let me go," she ordered.

He released her but stayed right there in front of her, staring down. "Answer me," he said. "Are you sorry even for a second that they rescued us?"

She raised her eyes to him and said firmly and slowly, "Not for a second. It's my job to get this crew home."

His face went blank as the blow she had dealt shivered through him. She saw him breathe and gather himself for one last effort. He looked her in the eye, battered but willful like a prizefighter who'd staggered up mid-count.

"I'm in love with you," he said. He spoke as if some force beyond himself had dragged out the words. She wondered for an instant if he had promised himself he would say them, no matter what happened, and now, even as far off track as the conversation had gone, he was determined to speak them for whatever magic they might wield. She could not allow this foolishness to continue. It would damage their working relationship.

"Be that as it may," Janeway answered, "we are due on the bridge." Janeway pivoted and left her quarters to avoid seeing the look on his face. Reminding him of his duty was always the way to bring him back from these flights of fancy in which he indulged. He seemed to have some romantic notion of their becoming a couple on board Voyager, like Tom and B'Elanna, while simultaneously commanding the ship. It was ludicrous. It would put everyone in greater danger and cripple a strong command team. How could he not understand that? She was gratified when Chakotay followed her to the turbolift and accompanied her to the bridge in silence – a troubled silence, to be sure, but he would come around.

Still silent, they barely acknowledged the bridge crew's greeting and took their stations. Janeway ordered Paris to set a course. In an instant, they had jumped to warp, hurtling away from another trap that could have swallowed Voyager and her crew. Janeway let her shoulders relax into her chair and turned her head toward Chakotay to savor this moment of triumph with him, but he had leaned away from her. He was slumped forward a little, forehead on his left hand. The look on his face, hidden from everyone but her, was undiluted misery.

#

Halfway through the shift, Janeway retreated to her ready room. Nobody else seemed to have noticed the burden that Chakotay had shouldered. He did his job as he always did, competent, no extraneous words or movement, and she alone perceived the layer of pain coloring everything. She had done this to him. He had promised to lighten her burdens and never wavered from that mission, even now. He was doing his best to carry on. But with her words and her intransigence, after the emotional experience they'd just come through together, she had added immeasurably to _his_ burden. She ordered coffee from the replicator and stood staring out the viewport.

When she finally put the cup to her lips, the liquid had no heat left in it. She turned around to see a flurry of blinking lights on her desktop console, signaling new messages and reports that had arrived during her reverie. She had to deal with Chakotay before this conflict between them affected operations and morale any further. She tapped her badge.

"Chakotay, to my ready room," she ordered.

"Aye Captain," came the immediate answer. She recycled her coffee and was waiting beside her desk when he entered. He did not approach, but stood just inside the door after it closed. "What can I do for you, Captain?" he asked, not quite meeting her eyes. Being in her presence was hard for him – she saw that – but he was doing his best.

She took a deep breath. "When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong. It was cruel of me to expect that we could just set aside our … experience as if it never happened. We will have to find a better way to deal with it."

Chakotay looked toward the viewport. "If it's all the same to you, Captain, I'd rather handle this in my own way. On my own. If that's all" – he attempted to take his leave, but she stepped forward and interrupted.

"It's not. Perhaps I'm not making myself clear. I've given this a great deal of thought in the past, but when we talked this morning I neglected to take into account how things have changed for you. Your definition of 'appropriate' also struck me. Appropriateness is situational, and I've concluded that in this situation it would be inappropriate for me to insist that we go back to a strictly professional relationship. It would be" – she waved her hands helplessly, searching for words. "Well, cruel is the word that comes to mind. You are my best friend and my greatest source of support, and this morning when you told me that you love me, well …" she trailed off, searching his face for some affirmation that she was heading in the right direction, that she hadn't permanently soured his attachment to her.

He was watching her with his head tilted, a wary expression on his face. "I crossed the line. I was trying to coerce you with my feelings. It won't happen again."

"No," she said, with a sharp headshake. "You were being honest and I was being … the Captain. I owe you an apology. The truth is that part of me wants very much to be back on Quarra, with you, and it scares me. Look at how I forgot about everything else. I was happy to believe the lie they fed me, as long as I was with you. I don't know if I can get this crew home if I let myself feel those things. Will the crew believe that we're doing everything we can for them if we're returning to our happy little home every night? What will it do to morale?"

Chakotay's face had changed as she spoke. It started with the lifting of his eyebrows in astonishment as she spoke about being back on Quarra with him. Then the haunted look he'd worn all morning began to dissipate and the full confidence and good humor that normally filled his face came rushing back. The transformation stirred her and she reached for his hand. He took it eagerly.

"If I know you, Kathryn, you'll fight all the harder to get them home just to prove that nothing has changed," he said. "I have no fear that anything will change on that front. But tell me more about this happy little home." He stretched out his other hand to push back her hair and cradle her cheek. "I want to hear more about that."

She had been determined to deprive herself of that touch. Now that it was on her again, she closed her eyes and slid effortlessly back into the days when he'd held her as they danced, greeted her at their door with a kiss, and pulled back the covers to welcome her into their bed each night. The memories she'd fought off now flooded back, warm and intoxicating as mulled wine. She'd been so happy with him. How had she managed to shove that aside so readily? She felt herself stretch up on tiptoe, on instinct, leaning toward him in the instant before his mouth crashed onto hers.

When at last they let each other loose, only by a few inches, a devilish look lit up her eyes and she said, "I thought I'd replicate an apron and cook for you every night. How would that be?"

She remembered his smile from Quarra and from dozens of little moments over their years on Voyager when they'd cast off their roles and he'd looked at her like a man deeply satisfied to be in the presence of the woman he loved. Now it came back, brighter than in any of those happy memories. "Terrible," he answered. "Just terrible." And he kissed her again.


End file.
